


Comfort

by Epitumbidia



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Melancholy, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 08:12:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11413806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epitumbidia/pseuds/Epitumbidia
Summary: As the sun sets on the last few days that Insomnia would know peace, Lunafreya reflects and Nyx observes, a moment of respite that both know will not last.





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Written for #ffxvrarepairsweek 2017, the first (well, technically second, as the first is still unfinished) piece of fanfiction I've written in over a decade.

For every sunset Lunafreya Nox Fleuret watches, the night that follows brings the unease of prophecy which threatens to drown her in despair. For she knows the sun will one day cease to rise, lest she forgets the mission that has been entrusted to her by the Astrals, by her mother, by the fates beyond her control.

On the roof of the citadel, there is a terrace that overlooks Insomnia, the glass of the high rises reflecting the orange and pink glows of the setting sun–flashes of light dance in the corners of her eyes, tempting the tears she’d long held back to fall. As the Oracle, Lunafreya holds her title and role with pride; her mother, the definition of elegance, wore her title as a second skin as she healed the scourge-stricken. Luna remembers every lesson her mother taught, both in service and in humility, knowing full well that she will not be long for this world. Nonetheless, she will see the prophecy through, as long as she has her voice and the will to carry each step forward.

But on this terrace, on this dusk, she finally allows the tears to come. Falling for her mother, torn asunder in protecting her children; for her brother, ravaged by a blinding yet misguided hatred for the King of Lucis and his son; for Noctis, who doesn’t even begin to understand the true nature of the “Chosen King,” yet he will pay the ultimate price; and finally, Lunafreya cries for herself, for her duty and her longing for a better path will always be denied to her. For she alone can’t convince the Astrals to spare their Chosen King’s life and she can’t plead to the crystal to turn back, to find another way to end the Starscourge.

The sun finally falls beyond the horizon and with its loss comes a new wind. Lunafreya senses his presence: tense and exhausted, the breath of the man standing behind snaps her out of the spiral of regret she nearly finds herself drowning in. She doesn’t need to turn around to know who is behind her, for there could only be two people who would have need of her at this hour, and it’s not King Regis, who would’ve made his presence known long before she allows herself the chance to cry.

“Nyx Ulric,” Lunafreya states plainly, her voice smooth and deliberate to the best of her ability. Of all the hours she has known this Kingsglaive, his attentiveness has made itself known. Every move he makes here is measured, not wanting to cross her boundaries. He is only a few feet behind her, but she can hear the soft shuffling of his feet as he closes the gap to stand to her right.

“Princess,” Nyx responds in kind, but his face belies the imposing figure he presents. Lunafreya turns to glance at him, seeing how his mouth twitches and his gaze downcast as he makes the uncertainty of his thoughts apparent.

She could only imagine how he must view her, crying here when the whole world has elevated her as a nigh-saint. Her hand moves before she can stop herself, reaching for his left hand and brushing her fingers against his palm. In that moment, Lunafreya becomes the Oracle, wanting to heal whatever ills this kind man has, the one seeks her out when he could be anywhere else and let her bear the burden of fate alone. But his pain, wherever they may come from, is beyond her ability.

Nyx stops himself from flinching when her fingers touched him, instead turning to face Lunafreya; he prepares to apologize, an instinct he knows isn’t all that logical given the circumstance, but this is the Oracle and he is as unworthy of her touch as he is of the sister he failed to protect. Her touch stops him yet again, moving from his hand to his lips, where Lunafreya places a finger there before sliding across them and off of him. No quicker than her finger leaves him and her lips reaches his, a kiss that whispers of bittersweet gratitude. 

Lunafreya pulls back to look at Nyx—and if he could melt here, beneath the empathy and understanding of her tear-stained eyes, he would want for nothing more. 

"Thank you,” Lunafreya whispers as she closes the distance, bringing Nyx into her embrace. She feels his heartbeat against her head, pounding steady in her ears, and offers a silent thanks to the wind and the sun for bringing her to this moment.

“Thank you,” Nyx repeats, for this is all he can truly say. He tries, yet fails to calm his beating heart before taking in a deep breath; with that, he breathes in sadness and regret, and with his breathe out, he releases gratitude and safety. For tonight, he is not a Kingsglaive, but simply a man–a man that she deems worthy of allowing him to sink into the arms of her grace.

Lunafreya seeks his touch, his presence, his comfort. Bathed in moonlight, Nyx knows that this comfort is not only hers alone. Under the stars of this night, Lunafreya knows this comfort is only theirs to embrace.


End file.
